


Aftermath

by disdainfulAvenger



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfulAvenger/pseuds/disdainfulAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is easy, going on the run. She will not miss Kirkwall, not the ghosts that lurk within its walls and invade her dreams at night. She will not miss the City of Slaves. Not after all that has happened.</p><p>Not after all she has done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

.

It is easy, going on the run. She will not miss Kirkwall, not the ghosts that lurk within its walls and invade her dreams at night. She will not miss the City of Slaves. Not after all that has happened.

Not after all she has done.

.

They part ways. It is strange to watch them go, after all these years. Sebastian leaves Kirkwall for Starkhaven at dawn, riding a horse as white as his armour. Aveline and Donnic are bound for Ferelden, their most treasured possessions gathered in the packs they carry. Merrill and Isabela sail away on the morning tide, Isabela promising adventure and freedom, Merrill eager for all this and more. Marian, Fenris and Varric head for the hills to the northwest, in search of their own freedom. They sleep beneath the open stars and walk along overgrown trails, avoiding the busier roads. It is peaceful.

Peace makes Marian uneasy, suspicious. She sleeps with a dagger in hand, her back pressed against a boulder or a log, and she wakes at the slightest noise, her heart in her mouth. When she dreams, she dreams of a city on fire, of a Knight-Commander turned to a statue, of a First Enchanter twisted into a hideous beast. She dreams of being run through by the Arishok’s sword, of holding her dying mother in her arms, of bidding her sister goodbye in the Deep Roads.

She dreams of watching the Kirkwall Chantry fall, and turning to face the man responsible for its destruction. One dagger to his gut, then another to his heart, and he falls to the ground before her, eyes wide with shock and pain, and she watches him die as screams fill the air.

.

Sometimes, she hears him speak. _Hawke_ , whispers the voice at the back of her mind, speaking in the tones of an apostate mage. _I trusted you. I believed in you. And you betrayed me. You stabbed me before I could say a word. Before I could explain._

“You’re dead,” she mutters under her breath, “I killed you myself. Shut-up.” Her hands shake. She balls them into fists. “Stop talking. _Please._ ”

The others do not hear her speak. For that, she is thankful. She does not need their pity.

She murdered a man who trusted her. She does not deserve _pity._

.

Sometimes, it is her mother’s voice that she hears. _Carver is dead. Your brother, and you could not save him. What sort of a sister are you? And Bethany, who contracted the Taint before your very eyes. What if the Wardens had not been there? What if she had died? What then, Marian?_

“I tried,” she whispers. “I tried to save you all.”

_You should have tried harder._

“I know.” And she _could_ have saved them – if she had pushed Carver from harm’s way, kept a closer eye on Bethany in the Deep Roads, if she had reached her mother in time and saved her from Quentin—

—and the nausea rises up inside, her stomach knotting and twisting, then rejecting its contents suddenly. She tastes bile, falling to her knees and vomiting into the grass, her stomach heaving and her throat burning, and it does not stop until her stomach is empty and she is gasping for air, her mother’s words echoing through her mind endlessly, bitter and angry.

.

“Hawke.” It’s Varric. He rests a broad hand upon her shoulder. “Hawke, look at me. You haven’t slept in two days.”

“I must look terrible,” she manages, glancing at him. “Save yourself, Varric, and look away.” She laughs. It is a sad sound indeed. Marian winces.

Varric gives a twisted smile. “Hawke,” he says, crouching down beside her, “it’s eating away at you, and I’m worried.”

“It’s just bad dreams,” she tells him. _Pathetic,_ comes a voice in her head. “Really, Varric.”

“Maybe it is,” Varric says, “and maybe it isn’t. We’re always here,” he tells her, “and I want you to remember that, alright?” He squeezes her shoulder. “If there is ever anything you need, then we’re here.”

The words are on the tip of her tongue and she is ready to confess it all: her dreams, the voices – but all she can do is nod and thank him, before going to take her turn at watch.

.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos <3

.

_Why did you kill me?_

“Because I didn’t know what else to do,” she says, and silence is the only reply.

.

If only they could see her now. Marian Hawke, the glorious Champion of Kirkwall. Marian Hawke, who is barely able to sleep at night, who flinches at the shadows and hears the voices of those who are dead.

Marian Hawke, who ran from Kirkwall as it burned.

Marian Hawke, the great _disappointment._

.

_Carver watches the Wardens at Ostagar. He is…curious. Awed by them, certainly – he speaks with the dwarven recruit while Marian watches on, her eyes shrewd. Carver asks a lot of questions. The dwarf answers amicably enough, even clapping Carver on the bicep as a farewell._

_“Why don’t you just join them and be done with it?” Marian asks Carver when he returns to her. Her tone is sharp, biting._

_Carver scowls at her. “Maybe I will,” he shoots back, but he never does._

(She wishes he had. Maybe he might have survived the massacre then, escaped with the other Wardens, become one of the Heroes of Ferelden. But it was not to be and he is dead now, the brother that always lived in her shadow. It is her fault. If she had been kinder, gentler – perhaps things might be different.)

.

_“It’s alright,” Bethany says, touching Marian’s face with clammy fingers. “It’s not your fault.” She clears her throat. “Really, Marian, you mustn’t worry.”_

_She finds words, somehow. “I should have kept you safe,” Marian chokes out. “I should have protected you.”_

_“Marian,” her sister says, wise beyond her years, “you will not always be able to keep me safe, and it was my choice to come with you.” She smiles. Her lips are pale, her veins dark with the Taint. “My choice, and not your fault. Remember that, please.”_

_Later, one of the Wardens comes to Hawke. “She lives,” says the man, his grey eyes relieved. “But you must say your goodbyes now. We move out as soon as she has regained her strength.” Then his face is grim. “I am sorry you must part like this, but time is of the essence.”_

(She thinks of the brother that could have been a Warden, and the sister that now is, and how she has failed both of them, her own flesh and blood, the siblings she was supposed to protect, the siblings she _failed_.)


End file.
